


all you never say

by nothingbutniall



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, NOT SAD, WTFock Season 3, babies in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 09:22:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21574543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingbutniall/pseuds/nothingbutniall
Summary: "Sometimes words simply don't have enough meaning."Five things Robbe doesn't tell Sander, and one thing he does. (Not as sad as the description makes it sound.)
Relationships: Robbe Ijzermans/Sander Driesen
Comments: 23
Kudos: 253





	all you never say

**Author's Note:**

> Seems like I've got a thing to write robbe/sander fic on dates with a 6.
> 
> (Title comes from Birdy's All You Never Say.)

It’s not like Robbe is usually at a loss for words when he’s around Sander. There’s something about the impossible lightness of his eyes that makes it seem like he’s looking right through you, reading your every thought from the outside in.

Sometimes, though, Robbe wishes Sander could actually read his mind. When he doesn’t have words that fit his feelings, when things seem too complicated to explain to the guy that went from stranger to soulmate in the span of a month.

He wants to tell Sander everything, he just can't. Not always.

//

"I made quiche," Sander tells him when Robbe steps into the kitchen, shaking out his hair after being rained on. He reaches a hand out and ruffles it in Robbe's hair before pulling him in for a kiss, hand roaming over Robbe's back like he's not sure where to touch first.

The smell of quiche in the oven triggers a long-forgotten memory in the back of Robbe's head, of Sunday mornings spent playing games with his dad while his mum slaved away in the kitchen. She was always experimenting when it came to food, trying out new recipes and exotic ingredients, but Sundays were quiche days.

He hasn't had quiche in years, now.

If he thinks about it, maybe he'd see the pattern, of how his mum stopped cooking around the same time as her marriage started falling apart.

Robbe pulls a face that goes unnoticed by the other boy and plasters himself to Sander's back as he turns back to the dishes.

Sander doesn't know much about the situation with his mum. He knows she's ill, knows she's been admitted to the hospital, but Robbe hasn't got around to mentioning that she's in a mental health clinic. He's just not sure how to mention it in a way that doesn't make his mum sound crazy - because she isn't crazy, she's just lost.

"How's your mum?" Sander asks, when Robbe lets the silence linger between them for too long. "Is she alright?"

He nods against Sander's shoulder and presses a kiss to his temple. "Yeah. I'm gonna go get changed real quick, okay?"

//

Moyo's words are still echoing in his head when Sander walks out of the classroom, smile bright and eyes shining. He's got specs of paint dusted across his cheekbone, blue freckles to match his eyes.

Robbe reaches out to wipe them off, nail scratching softly over Sander's skin.

Behind Sander, the model is gathering her stuff. She's dressed now, which Robbe is thankful for, because he never quite knows where to look.

Moyo wouldn't have that problem. This'd probably be his favourite class.

At least the days where it's girls modelling.

Robbe becomes aware of Sander excitedly rambling on next to him, something about lines and shadows and how ink is better for shading than pencils. He slides his arm around Sander's waist and tries to pay attention to what his boyfriend is trying to explain to him, even if he has no clue why a 4B pencil is better than a 4H.

(And, like, since when is there more than one type of pencil? Maybe Sander is tricking him. Surely you've just got coloured pencils and regular pencils, and all of the 4B chat is Sander talking bullshit. But Robbe isn't sure, and it was only last week that Sander gave him a two-hour lecture on types of paper, so he's not gonna ask, thank you very much.)

//

It's not like Robbe only grows quiet when he's feeling blue; sometimes words simply don't have enough meaning.

He always wakes up just before his alarm clock, and he used to hate missing out on precious sleep, but now, it has become his favourite time of day. It gives him about five minutes of unabashed staring at Sander, counting his lashes and listening to his slow breathing, before the alarm rings and the angel-haired boy scrunches up his face in protest.

Robbe thought the butterflies in his stomach would get used to the sight over time, but boy, was he wrong. There is nothing more adorable than Sander trying to crawl into the mattress to tune out the world around him.

It's a well-practiced choreography by now. Robbe pushes the covers off of Sander, slides his hand to the back of his neck, and rests their foreheads together. Sander groans, blindly feeling around for the duvet (more often than not landing a hand 'accidentally' on Robbe's butt), and puckering his lips slightly.

Robbe often vows to himself to hold off a little, make his boyfriend suffer a little more, but the sight of a sleep-soft Sander just does things to him, and he always ends up giving in before Sander has even noticed he's stalling.

//

There is little Robbe loves more than someone playing with his hair, especially if that someone is Sander.

They've got David Bowie playing in the background (on vinyl because Sander is an art student cliché come to life and Robbe loves him for it) and Robbe's got his head in Sander's lap and his hands in his hair and life is good.

It's great, even, when Sander scratches that spot right behind his ear that makes goosebumps rise on his arm. Robbe hums contently.

His boyfriend laughs, the sound vibrating in Robbe's ears, and pulls his hair softly, gently. "I swear, there is a universe out there somewhere in which you are an actual cat."

Robbe hums again and turns his head just so, getting Sander's fingers to tickle the base of his neck.

"An actual cat," Sander repeats, quieter, as he leans foreward to press a kiss to Robbe's forehead. "Cutest little kitten."

And that... Robbe's heart might explode with how much he loves Sander.

//

"Come to bed, Robbe." Sander sounds stern now, not as understanding as he'd been an hour ago.

It's gone midnight, and Robbe swallows down the guilt as he finally closes his laptop. He's not done yet, has to write a whole other paragraph and fix the layout and read through Yasmina's part, but he's tired.

Sander says something about brushing teeth and setting his alarm, but all Robbe can do at this point is flop down into bed and wait for Sander to tuck him in.

"Oh, bub," he hears Sander mumble, a hand stroking his cheek. "Today wasn't your best day, huh?"

The vocal part of Robbe's brain is switched off already, so he doesn't respond and simply moves closer until he's as close to Sander as he can physically be, breathing him in.

That's how he falls asleep, and that's how he wakes up, and he doesn't say it but he's glad Sander can read him so well. He's glad Sander knows when he doesn't have words.

//

 _Ik zie u graag_ and _ik hou van u_ may both mean I love you, but Robbe knows very well which one he prefers. _Ik zie u graag_ sounds closer, warmer. It doesn't carry the stiffness that _houden van_ does.

And even when he doesn't have words, he does tell Sander: " _Ik zie u graag_."

Because if all else fails, that will still be true.

**Author's Note:**

> lieverds <3
> 
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. You can also find me on Twitter (@nothingbutniall)!


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